The Duke of Seduction

by Darcy Burke

“No.” Miss Pemberton cocked her head to the side. “At least I couldn’t imagine her doing such a thing. She’s a terrible prude. Honestly, I’ve long since given up on trying to understand her. We couldn’t be more dissimilar.”

  Lavinia thought of her own mother and how she’d never even tried to understand Lavinia’s interests. Occasionally, her father talked to her about scientific matters, but such conversations always stopped when her mother entered the room. “Yes, we were definitely separated at birth.”

  Miss Pemberton’s light laughter floated around them as she withdrew her arm from Lavinia’s. “Then, dear sister, you must call me Jane. And now I see my mother is giving me an eye that bodes disaster. Until next time.” She waggled her brows, then took herself off.

  Lavinia’s mother approached at that moment and immediately swept her in the other direction. “There you are, dear. I’ve someone to introduce you to.” They reached the opposite side of the drawing room, where a man of middling height with a wide face dominated by a pair of thick, dark brows stood with her father.

  “There you are,” Father said with a smile. “Sir Martin Riddock, allow me to present my daughter, Lady Lavinia.”

  Lavinia curtsied to the gentleman, who was perhaps nearing his middle thirties. “Pleased to meet you, Sir Martin.”

  He bowed, but only slightly. It was as if he couldn’t quite be bothered. Or, she thought more charitably, perhaps he had a sore back.

  “The pleasure is mine, Lady Lavinia. Would you care to take a turn?”

  Lavinia knew there wasn’t really a choice, so she accepted his offer with a smile. Curling her hand around his elbow, she asked if he enjoyed musical performances.

  Sir Martin led her around the edge of the drawing room in the opposite direction she’d gone with Miss Pemberton. Indeed, it was opposite of everyone given the flow of traffic, but Sir Martin seemed oblivious.

  “I’m not particularly fond of music in general, but occasionally, I am taken with a piece. The Fortescues are friends of my mother’s.

  “I see.” No music. She didn’t dare ask if he liked rocks or dirt.

  “I prefer horses and astronomy.”

  Lavinia’s attention piqued. “Astronomy?”

  “The stars and sky.” His tone was condescending. He’d clearly thought she didn’t know what the word meant.

  “I’m quite familiar with astronomy,” she informed him politely. Perhaps too politely. She wanted to say, Caroline Herschel is a particular hero of mine, but instead followed her mother’s directive of not discussing science. It burned her tongue, however, since he had brought it up.

  Sir Martin glanced down at her from where he stood at least six inches above her. “Indeed? I expect to be named a fellow to the Royal Society within the next few years.”

  Lavinia nearly tripped. To meet an eligible bachelor who was potentially interested in courting her—and why else would he ask her to promenade?—who was a scientist? She was momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence indeed. And helpful since she really wanted to tell him she was an amateur geologist but shouldn’t.

  “I shan’t bore you with the details. If the sky were clearer, I would take you out on the balcony and show you Orion. Perhaps we’ll meet again on a more visible evening.”

  “I should like that, thank you.”

  “I imagine horses might be of more interest to you. Do you ride?”

  “I do.” But horses weren’t even remotely as interesting as stars and planets and comets.

  “Let me tell you about my favorite mount.” He smiled, briefly revealing teeth that weren’t particularly even. Then he launched into a description of his horse, both in looks and temperament, and by the time they’d returned to her mother, she wondered why he wasn’t courting the beast instead.

  Thankfully, Sarah and Fanny were nearby, and after Sir Martin took his leave, Lavinia was able to go and speak with them, particularly since the performance was about to begin.

  “Do you like your ensemble a bit more than you did this afternoon?” Sarah asked as they found three seats halfway back from the dais. “It’s very smart.”

  Fanny eyed her as they sat down. “Don’t you like it?”

  “I feel rather…floral,” Lavinia said, glancing down at herself.

  “I think it’s fetching,” Fanny said. “I adore the bandeau in your hair.”

  Lavinia’s hand went instinctively to her head. Her maid had carefully curled her thick, slightly wavy locks and fashioned the coiffure. “Thank you. It’s just not what I’m used to.”

  “Who were you promenading with?” Fanny asked, lowering her voice as others sat down around them.

  Lavinia, seated between Fanny and Sarah, glanced around and, squinting as usual, saw Sir Martin sitting a few rows behind her. A familiar figure at the back of the room pushed her to narrow her eyes even more. Lord Northam leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. He seemed to be surveying the room, his head moving—damn, she wished she had her spectacles—then suddenly, he stopped. And stared right at her. Her eyesight might not be entirely reliable, but she felt his perusal down to her bones.

  “I think that was Sir Marvin or something or other,” Sarah said, while Lavinia sought to find her tongue.

  “Sir Martin,” Lavinia corrected. “Riddock. Sir Martin Riddock.”

  Sarah peered at her expectantly. “How was he?”

  “A bit dull, but he has potential.” If she could get him to stop talking about horses and focus on the sky. “He’s an astronomer and expects to be a fellow of the Royal Society.”

  Sarah’s eyes lit. “How wonderful! See, the Duke of Seduction might have helped after all.”

  Stifling a groan, Lavinia tried to ignore the stares of too many people eager to detect why the Duke of Seduction had chosen her to write about. She wanted to know that too.

  She situated herself and stared straight ahead, ignoring all the intrusive eyes, as the musicians took the dais. She didn’t want the Duke of Seduction’s assistance. He needed to stop his meddling before it caused trouble. She’d do whatever she could to discover his identity and ensure he ceased his ill-conceived scheme.

  * * *

  The musical performance was to be a quintet of strings. Rarely was there a guitar, but tonight, Beck was in for a treat. At least he hoped he was. The young Miss Fortescue was making her debut on the instrument, and he was eager to hear her play.

  Guitar or not, he rarely missed a musical performance. Typically, he arrived just as it was about to begin, then stole away during the applause. On a few occasions, he endeavored to speak with the musicians, but he kept the conversation relatively oblique. It wasn’t that he hid his interest in music. He was simply private about that aspect of his life, and no one needed to know how deeply it affected him.

  Or how much he needed it.

  He’d heard the Fortescues play before, and while they were accomplished, they lacked a certain flourish. By the middle of the first piece, Beck could see the young guitarist suffered from the same inadequacy. Beck wished he could take the girl aside and show her how to relinquish herself to the music. Perhaps she was just nervous. Beck probably would be, not that he’d ever played before an audience outside of his friends at school. So in that regard, the Fortescues had one up on him.

  As his interest in the music waned, he found his attention kept drifting to the middle of the seating area, where Lady Lavinia sat between her friends. The more he watched her, the more he realized she squinted. Almost constantly. At least when she tried to focus on the dais. Every so often, her features would soften and she’d simply close her eyes and listen, her lips curved up in a slight smile. It seemed she enjoyed the music.

  This made him unaccountably pleased. He reasoned that he was always pleased when someone appeared to like music. And not just for dancing, but for the sheer joy of being transported by a melody or simple notes that struck a chord.

  His gaze moved over the spectators, and for the most part, they were less interested than L
ady Lavinia. More and more, he looked only at her.

  Then the Fortescues launched into a piece that stole his breath. The young guitarist played a solo, and it seemed that yes, she’d perhaps been nervous. Beck closed his eyes momentarily and found himself urging her on, as if she could hear his encouraging thoughts. She seemed to, as her notes climbed and cascaded and took him to another place.

  He opened his eyes when the others started playing once more. And once more, his gaze found its way to Lady Lavinia. Only this time, her head was turned and her narrowed, myopic eyes were directed at him.

  Had she been watching him as he’d listened to the guitarist? He felt suddenly exposed. And he wasn’t sure he liked the sensation.

  She returned her attention to the dais, but Beck’s pulse took a moment—or four—to slow. The remainder of the performance passed somewhat quickly, with just two more pieces, both of which weren’t as good as the guitarist’s solo.

  When everyone stood to applaud the musicians, Beck considered leaving. However, he wanted to compliment the young guitarist and tell her to keep playing, no matter what.

  Except people crowded the musicians, and Beck didn’t want to push his way to the front. Instead, he somehow found himself facing Lady Lavinia. “Good evening, Lady Lavinia. Did you enjoy the performance?”

  “I did, thank you. Did you?”

  “Yes, the guitarist was quite good.”

  “I thought so too. I haven’t heard many guitarists. I like the sound of the instrument. I wonder if it’s difficult to play.”

  “It depends,” he said before he could censor himself.

  Her dark auburn brows lifted slightly. “Do you play?”

  “A bit.” He was desperate to change the subject. His music was the most private part of himself, next to his lyrics and poems. But since he’d begun to share some of those—for the benefit of the young women he sought to help—that left him with just the music really. “I notice you were squinting at the dais.”

  A faint pink bloomed in her cheeks. “I was trying to see what she was doing with her fingers on the strings.”

  “I’ve seen you squint across the room and at the park. Do you have spectacles?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should wear them.” He lowered his voice and inched closer to her. “They wouldn’t detract from your beauty.”

  Her flush deepened. “I’m not allowed.”

  He blinked, thinking he couldn’t have heard her right. “Not…allowed?”

  “Your opinion notwithstanding, my mother says they’re unflattering to my face.” She tipped her head to the side and seemed to overcome a bit of her embarrassment.

  He felt horrid at causing her disquiet. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You shouldn’t have to squint to see.”

  “I have tried to argue that the squinting will give me early wrinkles,” she said wryly, provoking him to laugh. He really did enjoy her wit. “My mother, however, thinks that’s just an excuse.”

  “What would she do if you wore them anyway?”

  The corner of her mouth crept up in a half smile. “Are you encouraging me to rebel, Lord Northam?”

  “Perhaps,” he murmured, thinking a rebellious Lady Lavinia would be a formidable and rather arousing thing.

  Arousing?

  “Last fall, I participated in an archery contest. I was quite pleased when I was able to hit the bottom of the target, if only for a moment. The arrow fell out,” she explained. “Perhaps I should have sent the arrow somewhere dangerous. Maybe that would have persuaded my parents that I should wear my spectacles.”

  “Dangerous? Do you mean you should have hit someone?”

  She shrugged. “Or maybe just come close.”

  “Except you possibly can’t see well enough to make that distinction.”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly. “If only my parents were as astute as you.”

  He laughed again, enjoying her company. “It’s rather unfair, isn’t it? Young ladies are held to ridiculously rigid rules in Society. I must say, sometimes I’m glad I’m not one.”

  She blinked at him, her eyes intense, and he had the sense that at this distance, she missed nothing. “I wonder if I ought to be insulted.”

  He was really botching things. First he’d made her uncomfortable, and now he was insulting her. “Not at all. I was trying to commiserate and failing miserably.”

  “It’s all right. I believe I understand what you meant. I was teasing a bit—that’s what happens when you have an older brother and you’ve been teased, as I was. Do you have siblings, Lord Northam?”

  A pang of sorrow pierced his chest, but he firmly closed the door on the past and clung to this moment instead. “A younger half brother.”

  “I’m sure you tease him.”

  “No, he’s quite a bit younger, just eleven,” Beck said. “I really am sorry for your plight—with regard to the spectacles.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve had to learn to accept annoyances. Such as all this attention directed toward me thanks to that Duke of Seduction.”

  Her scornful tone set him on edge. “What has he done?”

  Her rich, spice-laden brown eyes widened. “Don’t you know about him? He writes poems about ladies he seems to think require assistance on the Marriage Mart. It’s incredibly presumptuous. And pompous. And many other words that end in ‘ous,’ I’m sure.”

  “Ah, yes.” His cravat felt suddenly tight. “Presumptuous how?”

  “In multiple ways. First, how can he possibly know a young lady’s situation? Perhaps she has a perfectly good reason not to be married yet.”

  His discomfort took root and started to grow. “Is that the case with you?”

  “I have reasons,” she said vaguely. “Anyway, it’s certainly not his affair. He doesn’t even know me.”

  “You know who he is, then?” She didn’t, of course.

  “No, but I’d like to so I could tell him precisely what I think of his scheme.”

  Little did she know… “How do you know he doesn’t know you? He must at least know of you.”

  “Yes, he seems to, but I haven’t a clue who he is. I do plan to find out. As does Miss Pemberton, another of the poor young women he set his witless sights on.”

  Beck felt a bit ill. “So your complaint is that he’s helping where no help is needed.”

  “Yes, and he’s encouraging all manner of men to slither from the periphery and try to strike a match.”

  “Have you been bothered?” He braced himself for an answer he wouldn’t like.

  “Not precisely.” Her response gave him a modicum of solace. “My parents are rather good at deterring the fortune hunters and the social climbers. But it’s put me on display and made me into a commodity.”

  “Isn’t that what the Marriage Mart does in the first place?” He might despise it, but he acknowledged it was the only way many young women in their class would gain a husband.

  “Precisely why I prefer my wallflower status. The right man will find me—or I’ll find him—or I’ll gladly take my place upon the shelf. I’d much rather be unwed than unhappy. Rather, I should clarify: unloved.”

  He was completely drawn in by her argument. “Love is important?”

  “Love is the most important, I think. And compatibility. I suppose I could forgo the former if I could be certain of the latter.” She straightened, and her features tightened. “Oh dear, my mother is coming, and she’s bringing another gentleman. Can’t she see I’m talking to a marquess? Perhaps you should stay at my side indefinitely this Season, so as to drive off this nonsense the Duke of Seduction has created.”

  “If I thought it would help, I would.” Beck was madly trying to think what he could do to rectify the situation entirely. What the hell had he done?

  Furious with himself and generally disillusioned, he decided he couldn’t face her mother and whomever she had in tow. “Forgive me if I take my leave for now,” he said, offering her a bow.


  “You’re leaving me? Where are you going?”

  “To do…rakish things.” He winked at her for good measure and saw the flicker of something in her eyes.

  Arousal?

  There was that word again.

  “Good evening, Lady Lavinia. Until next time when I shall act as your stalwart defender against the encroaching masses.” He took himself from the drawing room as quickly as possible and didn’t dare a backward glance.

  Chapter 4

  No countenance can be fairer,

  No demeanor is merrier.

  Her words heal the weak and weary,

  Her presence uplifts the dreary.

  * * *

  -From An Ode to Miss Phoebe Lennox

  by The Duke of Seduction

  * * *

  The following afternoon, Lavinia walked beside her mother to the park. It was a sunny afternoon, though a bit brisk. At least it wouldn’t rain.

  “Do you expect to see the Marquess of Northam today?” Mother asked as they neared the Grosvenor Gate.

  “No.” After their rather enjoyable conversation last night at the musical performance, he’d said he had to go do rakish things. She could only imagine what those things would be. Sudden heat swept up her spine, and she could feel the press of his lips on her neck as if he stood beside her.

  “Why not?” Her mother sounded put out. “Your father and I hoped he was perhaps considering courtship.”

  “He’s not. Have you forgotten he’s a rake?”

  “No, but even rakes have to marry when they’ve a title. Perhaps you’ll be the one to tame him.” She turned an expectant smile on Lavinia.

  They passed through the gate as Lavinia said, “Are those kind of men redeemable?”

  Mother blinked at her. “Does it matter when they’re a marquess?”

  Disgust roiled in Lavinia’s gut. Eager to leave her mother’s side, she squinted across the park until she spotted Sarah. But before she could go, Mother placed her hand on Lavinia’s forearm. “You can’t just walk off with your friends today. You need to linger here so that a gentleman may ask you to promenade.”